


I Take It In Real Slow

by Carsonian



Series: Young Avengers AU [4]
Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky is a Third-Wheel, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, Pining Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony is Lovely and Steve is Helpless, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carsonian/pseuds/Carsonian
Summary: The first time they meet. Then, the first time they meet again.Or:Tony’s eyes finally move, almost hesitatingly, to the blond’s. They freeze there................It’s too late though; Tony’s eyes drift naturally to Steve’s. He’s frozen, again.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, past Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone - Relationship, very brief
Series: Young Avengers AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154900
Kudos: 22





	I Take It In Real Slow

_Comin' like a hurricane, I take it in real slow_   
_The world is spinning like a weathervane_   
_Fragile and composed_   
_Though I am breaking down again_   
_I am aching now to let you in_

\- Steve

Tony had been told that the recruits were in the drawing room.

That wasn’t entirely accurate, actually. He’d been told that the recruits were at the Stark Mansion, and he was to stay in his room for the next few hours so as to not disturb their interviews. Better yet, it was suggested he make good use of his time and go to the SHIELD laboratories, work on the long-range missile he’d been expected to finish a month back.

Naturally, Tony finds himself walking down the stairs and turning right to sneak a look into the drawing room. He’s in the Iron Man suit, more out of instinct than necessity.

Peggy’s seated on the sofa with her back to him. Across from her are two boys, dressed in what appear to be matching white dress shirts and black slacks. They look approximately Tony’s age.

One’s a brunet, built and handsome. He’s sprawled comfortably across the couch, and his eyes are bright as he nods at Peggy’s words. He seems like a textbook field agent, athletic and confident.

The other boy’s a blond, much scrawnier, wearing wire-rimmed circular glasses that don’t complement his face at all. He’s looking up at Peggy, a steadiness in his gaze and a strength in his jaw that seems ill-matched with the rest of his body.

A technician? Intelligence agent? They don’t need anyone else in the R&D division. The other option – well, Tony would have heard if there was someone else smart enough to be in the boyband line-up but other than Bruce (and possibly Reed, if the bastard has his way), there haven’t been any suggestions.

He can’t be a field agent, Tony observes the sickly paleness of the boy’s skin, much too weak.

Still, as he half-listens to Peggy talk about the contractual obligations that will come with joining SHIELD, his eyes stray to the blond, and the intelligence of his gaze. There’s something tricky about him, intriguing only because Tony can’t pin his type. Tony’s always been bad at leaving puzzles alone.

“You can always reach me through Daniel, but if you want to have a conversation with one of our final candidates, you can always speak to Tony.” Peggy finishes, “After all, he’s just around the corner.”

Shit. How does she always know?

“Uh, hey,” Tony drawls out, emerging from the shadows, “Sorry?”

“Whoa,” The brunet says, “Is that a robot?”

“That,” Peggy says, proud gleam in her eyes, “Is the Iron Man suit.”

“Suit?” The brunet tilts his head. The blond has to lean back, and his arms falls over the sofa.

It makes him look more masculine. Tony huffs. The glasses just _don’t_ look right though.

“Tony, show them.” Peggy instructs.

Tony obliges, breathing in and feeling the suit detach, lifting up and outwards, before re-assembling awkwardly into sentry mode next to him.

“Ta da!” Tony splays his arms wide, grinning.

Peggy’s lips are quirked in that half-smile of achievement. The brunet’s gaping, clapping after a moment.

“Holy shit!” He says, “Uh, sorry, ma'am. But that’s pretty cool!”

Tony’s grin settles into a smile, still wide but perhaps more sincere, “It’s a neat party trick, for sure.”

The brunet asks Peggy if that’s what they’re going to be getting as well. Peggy’s dry “no” gets more questions streaming from the brunet’s who seems suddenly younger in his enthusiasm.

Tony’s eyes finally move, almost hesitatingly, to the blond’s. They freeze there.

The blond’s jaw is loose, mouth parted as he stares, unabashedly, at Tony. When Tony looks at him, his eyes move upwards to rest on Tony’s eyes. The motion, despite occurring in a blink, seems enduringly slow, sliding over Tony’s face like a rising wave for how it stutters his heart. Tony recalls, in a burst of a moment, Ty’s gaze as he’d unbuttoned Tony’s shirt, hunger morphing his face into something statuesque.

But it’s not quite that. The blond’s glasses give the impression of being skewed even though they rest high on his face, and there’s nothing proud or leery about his gaze. He looks taken aback – awed more than anything else.

The suit is impressive, Tony recites, and then almost immediately thinks: But it isn’t the suit he’s watching, was it?

See, Tony could swear his gaze had been on his lips, his smile. Tony doesn’t know what expression he’s making now, suspended in this moment. This moment like mistaking the landing for a step and only realizing it when your feet hangs for a moment longer.

Before he can figure any of it out, the blond straightens, turning away. His ears are tinged red, but nothing of that bizarre, entranced expression remains. Tony’s foot meets the landing, and he feels strangely bereft.

Tony turns to where Peggy is raising an eyebrow at the brunet, who looks somewhat sheepish. It’s hard to tell with the easy, confident smile.

Tony’s skin itches, eyes wanting to return to the blond’s, to watch him.

“So,” He hears himself say, “Who are they?”

Peggy looks to him, “Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. Bucky’s going to be in our field training programme, and we’re considering Steve for Project Rebirth.”

Huh. The serum. Tony thought they’d dumped that idea months back.

“Bucky Barnes?” He enunciates, “What’d you do to get that name?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “I became this asshole’s – uh sorry, ma’am – this jerk’s friend in kindergarten.”

“There were three James’ in our neighbourhood, and your middle name’s Buchanan.” Steve says with a tone that tells Tony this is a well-rehearsed line.

James Buchanan Barnes. _Jeez._

“Well, I’m Tony.” Tony adds, “Tony Stark.”

“Stark.” Steve repeats.

“Yep.” Tony replies.

“Oh,” Steve says, “We met your dad.”

“Wow, that must have been real fun.” Tony says.

Steve’s eyebrow twitches at that. His eyes rest and slide away from Tony in long, open intervals that leave Tony feeling too visible. What’s his deal? Is Tony the only one noticing this?

“Wait, so are you also in the team?” Bucky asks.

“You know about the team?” Tony squints at Peggy. She shifts her shoulders.

“They are being considered for the initiative.” Peggy admits.

“Huh.” Tony intones, “You two must be pretty special, then.”

He looks at Bucky first, and then at Steve, whose gaze meets Tony for a moment before moving away. He’s not being discreet at all, but then, maybe there’s nothing to be discreet about?

What is he looking at? Tony feels self-conscious, and it isn’t an emotion particularly familiar or comfortable for him. He’s wearing a band tee, and black jeans; very standard clothes. His hair isn’t even particularly messy. Does he have grease on his face? Unlikely, he hasn’t been in the shop yet.

“Don’t know about that,” Steve states, eyes not quite on Tony’s face, “But we’re definitely willing to try.”

“And in your book,” Tony turns to Peggy, “That counts for more, right?”

“I have said something along those lines, that’s true.” Peggy says.

“Field agent and super-serumed soldier.” Tony says, “Well, that’s certainly an interesting start.”

Bucky snorts, and Steve meets Tony’s gaze. There’s a curiousity there, and Tony can’t help but return it.

...

_15 years later_

Bucky Barnes (work): Conference room! Hurry up

Bucky Barnes (work): Steve’s here

Bucky Barnes (work): Don’t make it weird

Tony pockets his phone as he turns the corner.

Spike in heartbeat, boss. Friday’s voice is in his ear.

He’d long stopped needing an AI, but there’s comfort in having companionship, and it’s good to know there’s someone who can take away his control of the suit. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that he can’t always trust himself to know when to stop.

Speaking of people who can’t be trusted to know when to stop.

Steve would see through any front Tony could think to put up. God, it’s been, what, ten years? The thought of how much time has passed makes Tony uneasy. He knew there’d be a day when they’d see each other again, but his mind, always mapping out possibilities, had been blank when it came to what he’d actually do upon seeing Steve again.

Time to find out, he thinks as he reaches the plain door.

He sees Bucky standing by a whiteboard, and Steve sitting at the front of the table. They turn towards him as he enters, synchronous even now.

After a moment’s consideration, he lets the suit sink into his skin, leaving him in the business suit he’d donned this morning, before Bucky had called him in.

“Hi.” Tony says, and then remembers to smile with it.

“Hey T.” Bucky says, “Why don’t you sit down?”

It’s too late though; Tony’s eyes drift naturally to Steve’s. He’s frozen, again.

Steve’s eyes were roaming over Tony’s face before he’d even noticed, and Tony watches as they flick, disjointed and careful over his face before meeting his eyes.

Steve’s got scruff on his face. Not stubble, not a mustache, not a beard. Just scruff. His hair is almost brown, and looks recently cut. He’s got a white shirt on, and cargo pants. Tony notes all of this mechanically, information stored but not processed.

Despite the stilting movement of his eyes, Steve’s gaze when it meets Tony’s is heavy, intense, palpable. Tony can’t read anything into the gaze, but it brings him back, to that first afternoon they’d met. Stark Mansion. Steve, scrawny with those wire-rimmed circular glasses that never quite fit.

Steve breaks away from Tony, looking downwards and away, something akin to shame rooting itself in his expression. There’s an agonizing slowness to how his eyes move away. Like the incremental rip of a bandaid.

Tony’s skin feels raw.

“Um,” Bucky cuts in, “Tony, wanna sit?”

“Yeah, sure.” Tony says, sitting down opposite Steve, two seats to his left.

“Steve brought coffee, by the way.” Bucky says, “Yours is there.”

There’s an untouched coffee in the center of the table. Tony takes it, drinks from it.

“Red eye.” He says, though he isn’t sure why. Steve used to bring him a red eye before his exams.

“Thought you’d need it. Considering the battle yesterday.” Steve’s voice splinters Tony. Ten years of almost no communication, and it still had a grip on Tony, a balm easing the tenseness that had gathered in the base of Tony’s throat, in the small of his back.

“Yeah, definitely.” Tony says, “Thanks.”

He can’t look at Steve, but he can feel Steve watching him again. That same slippery manner from when they’d first met, during what Steve would joke was the “pre-” phase of his life. Steve and Tony had argued enough in those first few months before the serum (and even a little afterwards), that Steve had stopped watching him.

(It was only when they were dating that it sprung up again. Steve’s eighteenth birthday: that warm night, in Tony’s room at the Compound when they’d had penetrative sex for the first time. Fireworks in the distance, and a few in their heads, Steve hovered over Tony, so deep in him, gazing down.

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like what?” Steve’s eyes had been on Tony’s lips, and he’d moved down to kiss him, soft and imploring.

“Like,” Tony had scrunched up his nose and then repeated the action when Steve moved to kiss him there, “I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“I’m looking at you weird?” Steve had laughed.

“No!” Tony had said, “It just makes me feel weird.”

“Should I stop?” Steve had asked.

“Can you?” Tony had teased.

Steve had paused, reflective for a moment.

“Not sure, to be honest.” He’d finally confessed.

“Well, forget about it anyway. I don’t want you to.” Tony had wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, “Just fuck me, okay?”

“Okay.”)

Tony’s brought back to the moment when Bucky fishes out a USB.

“We have some footage of the attack going down in Panama. Cap – uh, Sam, was supposed to be there, but he hasn’t been responding for the last six hours. There were no calls for backup either. This is the last clip we have.”

Oh yeah. Apocalypse.

“How serious of a threat are we facing here, Buck?” Steve asks.

Bucky pauses, “It’s been building up for the past few months. Tony’s had to come in more regularly than his contract requires. Nat’s been asked to break from filming on a consultant basis but that may move to fieldwork. Clint’s already taken a team to Iceland.”

Bucky shifts a little. “Serious enough they asked me to bring you in. Serious enough that the UN is pushing for the return of the Avengers.”

“Oh.” Tony says, and he looks to Steve, can’t help that old instinct even now with years of heartbreak and pain between them.

Steve’s gaze is waiting there, as ready as the tide pulling over sand.

_Watch it go, watch it go, we stay the same_  
 _And I don't know, I don't know how it can change_  
 _Watch it go, watch it go, we stay the same_  
 _And I don't know, I don't know how it can change_  
 _And I don't know, I don't know how it can change_  
 _It's all we know, all we know, the hurricane_  
\- Tony

**Author's Note:**

> Different format for this fic, and I can't even count how many times "eyes" or "gaze" come up, but I hope it's enjoyable.
> 
> This all came about because of this one song that wouldn't leave my head. Now I've exhausted it. 
> 
> Song source: 'Hurricane', Tommee Profitt


End file.
